"Nothing, madam, nothing at all. Do you know what is meant by 'cumulative repression?' Well I'm suffering from 'cumulative repression.' That's all. There are different kinds of the disease and mine is of the sort for which there is nothing one can take."
"I don't understand you, John."
"No? Well, I don't seem to make myself very clear, it is true. I didn't explain 'cumulative' as thoroughly as I might have done. It's this way: Suppose you were compelled to take some drug the effect of which is known as 'cumulative.' The first dose would have little effect, and so on, up to a certain time. Then something would happen, and that something would be a result just the same as if you had taken all the doses at once—mighty serious, possibly. In my case I don't, as yet, know just how serious the effect is. I think—at least I hope—that I will recover. I seem to feel it wearing off a shade, but I'm not quite sure. The consequences of 'cumulative repression' are sometimes most serious. Insanity has been known to come. But, as for me, 'I am not mad, I am not mad,' I'm only a little—I'm only wandering in my mind."
Then, all at once, his mood changed to something absolutely earnest and his look was pitifully appealing as he leaned toward her:
"Oh, Lady Leech, can you do nothing for me?"
She did not answer him. She understood. She knew, as well as if he had told her in simpler words, that he had almost failed in his high resolve and that he had come to her, feverish, in a half madness, to be upheld and strengthened, or otherwise to be dealt with, as she would. She realized it all, and thought silently, struggling with herself as he might never know. But the good, both for his sake and hers, was strong within her and finally came her soft reply:
"You know, John, that I would help you if I could, but you know that I cannot, that I must not, even a little."
Her's was a great sympathy, yet, in the midst of it all, there was something she could not understand. She had heard that of him, from China, which made this scene incomprehensible. She knew that there was not a trace of acting, that there was no craft nor design about him, and she was but lost in a maze of troubled doubt. There was her own heart. An overwhelming pity overcame her, but she could not express it.
He sat looking at her, silent, sad, studying. Then, suddenly, he returned to earth again; his face lightened:
"What nonsense I've been talking to you! I will go into the other car and encourage the Colonel in the arena," and so he left her.